


Evenstar

by FeralCreed



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aragorn - Freeform, Arwen - Freeform, Death, Dúnedain - Freeform, F/M, Family, LOTR, Lord of the Rings, Rangers (LOTR)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:55:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1310593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeralCreed/pseuds/FeralCreed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arwen Undomiel, Evenstar of her people, faces her death in the remains of her old home, Rivendell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evenstar

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday to a friend of mine! Wrote this just for you :)

Gazing over the empty buildings of what had been my home, I realized for the first time how desolate the valley had become. It had emptied after my father had gone on the last ship to the West, the foliage left to grow where it would. Nearly all the walls were being overgrown by vines, half-hidden by bushes and overshadowed by what had once been richly bearing fruit trees. One of the great trees on the side of the valley had fallen, destroying two walls of a house along with most of its roof. Little remained that was as it had been before, but the foliage hadn't grown as far as I had expected. Fifty years of neglect had taken its toll on my beloved home, leaving little except ruins and the memories of my people.

 

My horse shifted beneath me, restless to resume our journey. Soothing the mare softly in my native tongue, I dismounted and stood next to her, letting the reins lest on her neck. Dipping her muzzle, the mare lipped at the grass growing above her fetlocks, teeth grinding softly together. I turned to her and slipped my fingers under the leather cinch. Pulling her saddle off, I left it on top of a crumbling wall a little higher than my waist. I ran my hand under her mane after taking her bridle off.

 

“ _Vanya sulie. Voronwer, astalder mellon_ ,” I murmured. “ _Aratoamin ten' amin. Namaarie ten' quel, Amrun-elen_.”

 

The mare nuzzled my shoulder, soft azure eyes studying mine. Nickering, she half-reared, shaking her head, before standing in front of me, pressing her forehead against my shoulder. Exhaling loudly, she turned away, muzzle brushing against the grass as she moved through a gap in the trees. I sighed as she left, bittersweet at my last friend's departure. She shouldn't stay with me any longer, but I didn't want to leave her here. “Morningstar” she was named, a white mare with blue eyes and light-colored hooves, bred from the finest steeds of our home. The day of his departure to the West, my father had released his stallion into the wildlands and given me the horse's only foal.

 

Walking down the sloping trail, I paused beneath a large tree whose spreading branches were heavily leafed and reaching almost to the ground. My hand slipped out to touch the trunk, caressing the smooth hollow near its first branch where I had used to place small trinkets as a girl. It was a shallow recess, but protected from the weather and smooth as burnished clay, in stark comparison to the many creases between its thick and knotted bark. Running my fingers around the lip of the space, I smiled faintly at old memories.

 

Warm summer nights. Lights dancing among the branches from fireflies. Torches held by my kinspeople or propped between the interwoven vines of arbors. Pools of water fed by a tiny mountain stream. Billions of stars shining down their celestial blessing. Violins and harps serenading all hearers. Dancing maidens with ethereal grace. My father, regal as a king should be, but smiling on his family. Colorful silks and gleaming jewels flickering in the firelight. It had been beautiful in its glory.

 

But now my home was dry and dead. Nothing was left for me in Middle-Earth any more. Elrond and Galadriel, my parents and friends, had gone to the Grey Havens. Aragorn, my husband, had died many years ago, and my son in battle six months past. Those of my people were gone to their home, and those of my husband's to their tombs. Even the wizard Gandalf, often a guest of my father's halls, had gone from the world. Legolas, my longtime friend, and his father Thranduil had gone into the West as well. Everyone I knew was gone. I would not long remain in this world either.

 

Stepping past the old tree, I walked slowly down the pathway. Grass had sprouted all over the stone in many places, standing almost in thickets near the walls. Inside, fewer plants had taken root, but dust laid thickly over everything. Travellers had apparently taken refuge in some of the southern buildings, since soot blackened part of one wall and dried horse droppings were piled in the corner. A broken spoon and a badly ripped blanket were flung in the same corner, abandoned by whoever had been there. There had been a time when travellers' packs would have been richly stocked, but when they had been here they had left their broken utensils behind.

 

I wandered my ancient home until nightfall. Then I returned to my old room overlooking Rivendell's central courtyard, the wide windows now overrun by twisting vines. Setting my saddlebag at the foot of my old bed, I ran my hand down the decaying bedsheets, the same cloth that had been there the day I had left it. Spreading my bedroll on the floor instead of on the rotting bedstead, I went to the window. The sun sank below the horizon in a burst of fiery splendor, washing the walls with red and orange hues. Pink and yellow splashed across the ceiling, illuminating the décor that had been carved where the ceiling met the walls.

 

I built a fire in the corner, feeding it with a few pages from a book decayed beyond legibility. Quiet reigned until a clipping sound echoed in the courtyard. Looking out, I saw Amrun-elen walking into the courtyard, dipping her muzzle to the surface of a water trough. Whistling three notes softly, I smiled when she looked up and pricked her ears. Walking down the stairs to the entrance of the house, I whistled again. Neighing, she trotted toward me as I stood at the foot of the stairs leading inside the building. Laying a hand on her neck, I walked with her up the shallow flight of steps to the hall below my room. The stairs to my quarters were steeper and winding in a half-circle, too difficult for her to navigate, but she was content to stay in the hall.

 

I brushed her coat and combed out her mane with the grooming equipment I had brought with me. Water was available where rain had made a basin in a wide rock windowsill, and the room was comfortable, so I thought she would be all right. “ _Quel du, mellonamin_.”

 

Sunrise woke me the next morning. Amrun-elen greeted me with a soft nicker and followed me into the courtyard. I spent half the day wandering through the halls and libraries of Rivendell. As the sun started descending from its highest point, I heard approaching hoofbeats. A woodland horn trilled four notes, disturbing several small birds from the trees. Drawing my sword, I held it point down as Amrun-elen snorted behind me, pawing her hoof twice against the ground.

 

Two men on horseback cantered through a crumbling archway, pulling their mounts up in surprise when they saw me. Coming forward at a trot, six cloaked and hooded men paused abreast, four archers standing at attention behind them. Their leader trotted into the courtyard after them, slowing his horse to a walk as he circled around his men and stopped in front of me. Dismounting, he stopped just out of sword range and studied me for a moment.

 

“ _Mae govannen, poikaer arwen en amin_ ,” he said, giving me an elven salute. “ _Creoso a'baramin_.”

 

“Your dwelling?” I asked, lifting my sword's tip an inch or so. “I believed this to be the valley of Rivendell, former dwelling of Elrond Half-elven, my father. How does a brigand claim it as his? There may be some who believe this to be an elven stronghold still.”

 

“The elves have all left for their Grey Havens, my lady,” the man answered in a polite but bold voice. “And while I respect your bravery, I am no thief. My name is Kevesse, son of Keveyon. I am one of the northern Dứnedain and therefore a distant relative of your late husband. We were deeply grieved to hear of his passing, my lady,” he added after a pause. “His mother's uncle, Aradal, is among our band, with his wife Fday and daughter Aralira.”

 

An elderly rider lifted his hood back from his face and bowed in his saddle. An older woman and a young lady lifted their hoods as well, both bowing as the man had done. The younger female lifted her gaze to my face, studying it curiously, and I recognized a trace of Aragorn in her jawline that was most noticeable in her eyes.

 

“We do not often stop here, preferring the woodland realms of our homeland Eriador to the valleys of the eastern Misty Mountains. Dwarves prefer stone, elves prefer trees, and rangers prefer the forest. Yet at times we do take refuge here, and have done our best to keep the grounds as they were when your father was here. For the last two years, we haven't been here except for a small band who stayed overnight a few months ago. I hope you will not regret our attempted stewardship, _arwen en amin_.”

 

“I do not,” I replied, sheathing my sword. “Why are you here? If your home is in Eriador, you are a long way from it. Are you on your way back?”

 

“We received word that our village was destroyed. It was. This is only a quarter of my men. My other three captains each head a group of their own, going to the north, west, and south in search of our kin. So far, only fifty-seven of us remain, including the other men who search – thirty of them. Only twenty-seven survived from a village of nearly a hundred.”

 

“What happened?” I asked. “The goblins were almost completely destroyed in the war my husband fought in. It cannot have been them, only a few hundred were thought to have survived.”

 

“That is right, my lady. But many of those who survived were in the Great War, and were trained under Saruman's captains. Most of them are destroyed, but several dozen remain who take no greater pleasure than in murdering our people. In two weeks, we all gather at Bree to assess our losses. Those from the village would have been able to reach the city by then, or at least send someone ahead of them to tell us of their coming. For many years, Bree has been our place of meeting in troubled times. But what of you?” Kevesse asked.

 

“Aragorn died many years ago, at the beginning of the Fourth Age, as you know. My son died six months ago in combat with the evil men of Dunland. After his burial in Gondor, I passed through the White Mountains to Gondor, and from Gondor through the Enedwaith, to come here. I wished to visit my father's home before returning to Lóthlórien, my birthplace. Where will your people go now?” I asked, not wanting to speak of my own journeys.

 

“We will rebuild our village somewhere,” Kevesse said. “My father, Keveyon, and his brother Kevrol will guide our village as they always have. Once our people are in safety, we will decide where to go.”

 

“I will not stay here. Take Rivendell as a place of safety if you want it,” I suggested.

 

“Where are you going to go, my lady?” Kevesse asked. “Middle-Earth is dangerous for a lone traveller.”

 

“I will return to Lóthlórien, where my mother lived,” I answered. “There I will stay.”

 

“Evil is not as wary of those borders as it once was,” Aralira remarked in a clear, high voice. “It would be unwise to travel alone as you are, my lady. You would not regret our company, if you forgive our thievish appearance.”

 

I nodded slowly. “I agree that I would not regret your company. But you might rue mine. I am well-known by the few goblins that remain as Aragorn's wife. They would not pass up a chance to try to capture me.”

 

“If you have friends with strong hearts and strong blades, then you have nothing to fear,” Aralira said, tilting her chin up. “We have both.”

 

“If your leader accepts your proposition, brave woman, than I shall accept as well,” I answered.

 

Kevesse hid his smile and jerked his chin down. “Aralira is right that evil is not wary of the borders of Lóthlórien. And she is right that we have strong hearts and blades. We would be glad and honoured to guide you to Lóthlórien if you can wait for us to receive word of our village and bring them here. I cannot say if we will stay or not, but the elvish blessings still linger in this valley and will protect our people until my company can return to do so.”

 

“I would be glad to travel with you, Kevesse. And Aralira, daughter of Aradal. You – and all your kinspeople – are welcome to stay either in Rivendell or Lóthlórien as long as you wish, and your descendants. These two places are all I have left, and I will not have them much longer. When I leave Middle-Earth they are both yours, to do with as you wish. Keep them in memory of your distant relation, Aragorn son of Arathorn, and the memory of Aragorn's son.”

 

“We will do that for our kinsmen,” Kevesse agreed. “In three weeks, we will arrive here at dawn to prepare for the journey to Lóthlórien. You are welcome to travel with us to Bree if you wish, although I cannot say how the inhabitants of the place will react at seeing an elf-maiden.”

 

“I will travel with you to Bree, but I do not think I will enter the city.”

 

The next morning the Dứnedain rode out of the courtyard of Rivendell as they had entered. I followed them. It took us eight days to reach Bree. When we did, I stayed an hour's ride from the village in a small thicket with Amrun-elen. Kevesse led his company into town to check for their kinsmen. When nobody was found there, he sent his company to a nearby ravine and stayed in town by himself. Five days after our arrival, survivors from the Dứnedain village started gathering outside Bree's gate.

 

At least one of Kevesse's men rode to the gate at one of three times per day – shortly after dawn, at midday, and shortly before nightfall – and stayed there until the next man came. Kevesse himself came out to the gate at dawn and sat right next to it until darkness fell, at which time he returned to the inn until the next morning. Shortly after the first arrival, only four days later, everyone from the village was buried, confirmed missing, or safe in the ravine. I led Amrun-elen to their ravine and walked through their camp until I found Aralira.

 

“ _Mae govannen_ ,” I said quietly. “Badren stopped at my camp this morning and said you had found most of your people. Are you leaving, then?”

 

“We leave with the moon tomorrow,” Aralira answered. “I supposed I had hoped that we could stay at Bree for at least a little while before leaving again. But we are a wandering people, doomed to wish for a home and not have one.”

 

“You will always have Rivendell,” I offered. “It is yours and your people's.”

 

“We are the Dứnedain, rangers of the West and of the east. We stay nowhere even if we have a home. But we thank you. Did Badren tell you what we have decided?”

 

“No,” I answered.

 

“We will leave the women and children at Rivendell with thirty-five warriors. The other five warriors will go with you to Lóthlórien, as will I. Once you are settled there, we will return to Rivendell. From there, we are not yet decided. Some wish to go to Gondor, or to Rohan, some wish to return to Eriador, some wish to stay in Rivendell, and one family at least wishes to stay in Bree.”

 

“Do not let me stop you from settling somewhere,” I said.

 

“You're not. A few weeks more will not make a large difference, even if we were being held back.”

 

The six of us travelled to Lóthlórien on horseback. Aralira, Thder, Mihila, Gager, and Harrol were my escorts. Gager and Harrol were unrelated but closer than brothers, and with their hoods drawn over their faces and their swords sheathed, they were nearly identical. Thder and Mihila were nieces whose fathers were brothers before Thder's father died in the village attack. Aralira and I grew closer together. Her outspokenness, bravery, and clear friendliness made me like her more than the others, and while at first I was a fascinating and distant entity she soon found me as close a friend as any of her people.

 

We reached Lóthlórien quicker than I thought we would. Aralira and I walked our horses together, while Thder and Mihila rode on either side of the trail, often out of sight, and Gager and Harrol ranged ahead or behind us as they pleased. I had never been in less visible company but had never felt safer while travelling. I wished I could stay with the Dứnedain, and live in their villages. Several times I almost asked if I could, but I continued on my journey to my homeland.

 

It was quieter than I remembered: all my childhood memories were filled with laughter and talking and singing. Now there was no one left, and the elven flets hung empty in the branches. Three days after our arrival, I let the Dứnedain return to Rivendell. Gager and Harrol were polite and seemed genuinely sad to separate, but they were quick to leave, cantering their horses away. Thder and Mihila were too shy to say anything, smiling bashfully instead and trotting their mounts down the trail. Aralira dismounted, gave me a sisterly hug, and returned to her horse, grinning impishly at me all the while. Her grin dropped abruptly as she studied me from horseback. “I wish you would have come back with us. You'll leave Lóthlórien soon, won't you? And not for Rivendell.”

 

“You knew?” I asked.

 

“Yes. I'll tell Kevesse and Aradal and Badren and Fday and all the others that you were happy. We didn't know each other long, but I'm glad we met.”

 

I closed my eyes and nodded. When I opened my eyes again, Aralira was gone. Amrun-elen went with her, as a gift. The mare glanced back at me at the borders of the wood, and Aralira waited patiently for the horse's attention to come back to her before moving on again. They disappeared behind a dash of fireflies and spring leaves, following the river.

 

I went to the place where I had first seen Aragorn. A little knoll alive with elanor flowers and boasting a crown of silver-barked and golden-leaved trees, the grass greener than anywhere else. Breathing in the scent of the flowers deeply, I reached a hand up and caressed a golden elanor vine hanging delicately from a branch. Laying down between the two trees, I folded my hands at my waist and closed my eyes,. Faces flashed across my mind, my husband, our son, my father and mother. Galadriel smiled at me in the way she always did when she wanted to encourage me, and Elrond lifted his chin in the way I knew so well. Aragorn and his son stood proudly side by side, flanked in the background by men of Gondor and Rohan.

 

“ _Amin mela lle_ ,” I whispered. “ _Mela en' coiamin. A'maelamin. Cormamin lindua ele lle_.” A smile flickered across my lips, and I breathed in deeply as bright light gave me to the Grey Havens. Soft laughter and sweet water swirled around me, blessings and ballads spoken in my own tongue. Letting the light form words, I recognized the rough yet gentle voice behind me and turned, searching for him. “Aragorn. You're here.” Our fingers met in a nebulous cloud, his touch solidified, and he led me into the halls of our ancestors.


End file.
